The Golden Rules
by reenka
Summary: Wherein deals are made, rules are broken, and revenge is served with a smile. - GinnyPansy, HD


DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This fic contains adult situations that may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Warning: femmeslash. NC-17. Because girls like to boogie, too.

This is my first time writing graphic femmeslash fanfic. All in all, I'm kind of pleased I escaped without using the word "love-channel" even once.

Dedication: to slash writers in love-- with each other. Here's to a happy ending, girls.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

- The Golden Rules -

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Draco broke the first rule before Pansy ever broke the second. In fact, it was all his fault, really. That wound up being little consolation, but nevertheless, that was what she told herself. It had all begun to go to hell in a hand-basket when Draco broke the First Golden Rule of Slytherin: "Never forget your allegiance."

Pansy knew how to bide her time, but by the middle of seventh year, it was obvious something was very much off.

He'd told her he'd started going to the DA meetings to spy, but there was something in his eyes. Something she hadn't seen before. She couldn't read him, and that, more than anything else, was what told her.

Before, she would've written it off without much thought. If nothing else, she'd learned to trust her best friend's judgment through their long acquaintance. He might not tell her what was going on sometimes, but he was -hers-. They were in this together. That, she'd never doubted.

Maybe it was a sign of growing up, this latent ability to doubt him. Or maybe she'd learned to notice things she didn't want to at last. Whatever the case, Draco hadn't needed to tell her about Potter, though more than anything, she wished he would have. In the end, that might have been all she'd have wanted, before her temper reached boiling point and it became much, much too late.

She wasn't one for stupid petty revenge, she thought as she glanced at Draco when he wasn't looking. This had to be classy. It had to -mean- something. This was -Draco-. She still hadn't decided whether to destroy him utterly or to merely cause him a lot of pain.

Hadn't believed them at first. Of course she didn't. It's not the sort of thing one -believed-, now was it? She'd stood by him until the end, even when the whole rest of their House shunned her along with him. They were mindless sheep, and she and Draco were the wolves. Nothing could touch that; he'd promised her.

That's the only thing she'd said, when he finally told her. "You promised," she said, and he did wince, though it wasn't all that satisfying. She'd had to leave soon afterwards. She did say one more thing, actually. Screamed it from the other end of the hallway, after she'd already walked away.

"Potter!" she'd yelled, "POTTER? Do you have absolutely zero taste, Malfoy!"

Draco had the nerve to shrug and not even look apologetic. Pansy was sorely tempted to hex him so that the words "I fuck Gryffindors" were permanently stitched onto the back of every set of robes he owned. She stopped herself in time to realize she was playing for bigger stakes now. She didn't know -what- she was going to do yet, but she knew it was going to be big. As brilliantly, gloriously big as Malfoy's dick... wasn't.

Pansy considered asking him about it. "So... what does Potter think of the goods? Are you small enough for his comfort?" She was saving that one for a special occasion. Perhaps the day he got news of Lucius' death, although a part of Pansy doubted she was that much of a raving bitch. There was always time to improve, however.

What she really -wanted- to say was, "I never loved you, arsehole!" The only problem was, she was almost completely certain that Draco wouldn't care. The point was to make him care, of course, and then rub his nose in it somehow.

The scope of Pansy's imagined revenge turned up a notch every day she had to watch the two of them shooting either charged glares or smoldering glances at breakfast, had to catch those fleeting random smirks of his, had to notice the stupid bounce in his step. He'd discarded her like an old skin, and a part of her wanted to respect him for it, except she couldn't. She just couldn't. All she could do was hate him and try to make that be enough.

It would've been okay. It might almost have been bearable if he'd asked to still be friends. If he still tried to spend time with her. If he wasn't -changing-, not in any obvious way to most people, but in blatant, painfully clear ways to his best friend since they were both five. He wasn't -Draco- anymore, not really, and this made Pansy's plans all right. It was all right to hurt him, to think about betraying him, to want him to suffer and eventually be crushed under the weight of his misfortunes.

Even so, Pansy's schemes might all have been for naught but for one deciding factor: Ginny Weasley.

Weasley would be the unwitting key to Pansy breaking the Second Golden Rule of Slytherin, and she knew it. "Never get in over your head."

Too late now.

Pansy didn't have to weigh the pros and cons in this particular situation-- she knew it was an insane, wildly hare-brained idea. She couldn't think of a better one, however, and she felt like she was running out of time. She needed to act before her anger turned to bitterness and she did something stupid like confront Draco and beg him to wake up.

This was the furthest from that she could imagine. It was a Gryffindor. It was a girl. Even worse, it was a -Weasley-. If this didn't do it, she didn't want to know what would.

Besides... it would be fun, Pansy thought philosophically. And it wasn't even illegal.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

She'd noticed the girl before. She'd gotten tall, hard to miss even in a crowd of Gryffindor sheep, with those long coltish legs and those high, tight little breasts and that slender neck of hers. She'd watched her flying circles around the other Seekers, though everyone said she still wasn't as good as Perfect Potter. Pansy didn't see what the hell they were on about. The girl could -fly-.

It wasn't like Pansy to have random fantasies about fit girls from rival Houses, but she'd have been lying if she'd said she didn't feel a little tingle, watching her ride that broom. She had a certain something that the Chang bird didn't. Some sort of spirit. Pansy could appreciate it, even if silently. She was no carpet-muncher, but that didn't mean she had no taste.

Poor, lost little Weasley. Pansy knew vulnerability when she saw it. Could almost taste it, almost smell it like some sort of fine perfume. Little Ginny Weasley was between boyfriends, and all bets were off. Pansy Parkinson never thought the boys should be allowed to have all the fun. She wasn't on the Quidditch team because she'd chosen not to be, that was all. A bludger could've smashed into her face after one of those underhanded Gryffindor tricks at any time, and that would've hurt like a bugger. Better safe than bloody, she thought.

Weasley was the perfect target. She was the only one that was close to the Inner Circle who wasn't somehow either attached or untouchable. Sometimes Pansy considered desperate measures, like Longbottom for instance, but she preferred to leave that to a last resort. A very very last resort.

And it wasn't as if Pansy wasn't curious. She was a normal teenage girl, and the youngest Weasley was a bit of all right. She'd never particularly felt so inclined with any of the girls she'd roomed with in Hogwarts, but nothing was out of the question when it came to getting what Pansy wanted. That had to be the alpha and omega of her understanding of the world: all necessary means for all desirable ends.

Besides, she thought she'd had enough dick to last her a lifetime, at least until she'd purged the memory of Draco's small little... thing from her system.

Yeah, everyone knew that girl Weasley wasn't crazy over the four-eyed wonder anymore, that she'd gotten over her little crush ages ago, and yet... There she was, staring at them just like Pansy was, with the same carefully hidden look of hopeless rage. Weasley probably wouldn't have admitted to feeling such a thing, being such a proper little Gryffindor-- but Pansy could tell. She saw how it rankled, how it -chafed-. She could practically hear the girl's thoughts, if anything because they had to parallel her own. No one "got over" their first.

"Malfoy! Why -Malfoy-? How -could- you, Harry?"

Pansy thought she knew how, but she wasn't going to volunteer any theories if Weasley didn't already know. It was pretty obvious that the "how" probably had something to do with Draco's equally sudden and convenient usefulness to the Order. Apparently, even a Malfoy could be bought like a common whore.

And the Gryffs were none too happy either, according to rumor. The youngest Weasley wasn't talking to the great Harry Potter, and story was, neither was Weasley's brother. The famous trio seemed in danger of collapse yet again. There wasn't much room dedicated to gossip in the Daily Prophet, and Witch's Weekly had stopped arriving at Hogwarts since the war had begun in earnest, but there were very few things that weren't either known or hinted at when it came to the bloody Boy Who Lived. How dreadfully boring, Pansy thought, but certainly useful.

After all, the early stages of The Plan called for a certain level of understanding between her and Weasley. To her vague surprise, Pansy found that understanding her wasn't much of a problem. All she really had to do was look at her and it was like she could see straight through her. It was a bit disconcerting at first, especially since she wasn't used to looking at Gryffindors for that long, but in the end it was worth it to feel that unique thrill of having someone in the palm of her hand without them even knowing.

It was really -really- pleasant to know a lot more about someone than they knew about you. She thought she could get used to the feeling. She didn't even notice as she began to leave Draco out of her equations. He wasn't at the forefront of things, but that just meant she was coping okay, she knew that. She still wanted him spread in 32 million tiny pieces across the world.

One step at a time, Pansy told herself patiently. Remember, one step at a time.

With that thought in mind, Pansy approached the little Weasley, pretending as if she was taking the scenic route to her Ravenclaw boyfriend's table. "Hey, Weasley," she said.

Ginny blinked, slightly confused for a second. "Do I know you?" Weasley said carefully.

Pansy grinned. "My reputation does precede me, but it doesn't matter. I assure you, no one in this whole bloody school knows the first thing about me, little Red." It was true that Weasley was taller, but Pansy was still older, and she was bloody well going to press every advantage she had.

The "little" redhead glared at her, delicate brows furrowing. Pansy thought she looked kind of cute when she was angry. "You can't intimidate me, Parkinson. And don't bloody call me that."

"Maybe not, but I could sure have fun trying, right-- Red?" On that note, Pansy chose to actually sail past toward Ravenclaw. It would've been inconvenient, being seen chatting it up with a Weasley.

The next day, there was already an owl delivered to her over breakfast. "So what did you really want, Parkinson?" it said. Pansy couldn't stop her good mood from showing. Hook, line and sinker, and she hadn't even started. It was so easy. Almost -too- easy. The trick was, she knew what Ginny wanted. And not incidentally, Pansy could give it to her.

She may not be a knight in shining armor, but she could definitely trick one into making an appearance for her benefit.

When Ginny Weasley had been dreaming her little girl dreams of huge castles and knights and a sparkly marriage dress to end the drudgery and cooking and cleaning night and day, Pansy Parkinson had been imagining herself as Queen. There were no knights or kings or Queen Mothers to tell her to marry, in her fantasies. Pansy dreamt she was born to rule.

She could bring Weasley her tarnished white knight on a silver platter if she wanted to. And if that meant she had her missing prince back (even in pieces), Pansy decided she quite wanted to.

In the end, it all went back to the Third Golden Rule of Slytherin: "When all else fails, plan revenge."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Once she knew what she had to do, it was simple. She cornered Weasley when she was coming back from some class, looking rather lonely. Perfect.

"Psst! Weasley!" The method of contact Pansy chose was rather juvenile, but it got the job done.

Ginny's head jerked up and her eyes grew round as saucers for a second at the sight of a halfway familiar Slytherin girl apparently trying to get her attention peaceably. Almost immediately, they narrowed again in blatant suspicion.

Pansy didn't have time for this. Impatiently, she gestured repeatedly to the right, indicating that Weasley should follow her into an empty classroom, figuring that there was nothing suspicious about that since she was a girl, after all. How could she possibly mean to take advantage? Pansy could tell that the girl was trying to fight her own innocence but failing. She repressed a wicked grin. Her mum used to tell her that nnocence was the most useful thing, in the right hands. And it was even more delicious when the innocent in question seemed to consider themselves quite experienced.

It took about a minute for Pansy to outline their mission, and afterwards she just looked at Weasley expectantly, waiting for her eyes to light up or her fists to clench or -something-. Something nice and dramatic would've been satisfying, but not even necessary.

"What's in it for me?" asked Weasley reasonably.

Pansy knew better than to say, "revenge". Instead, she improvised. "Well, you could show Harry how terribly wrong he's been, choosing Malfoy. You could save his life, you know!" Pansy took care to keep her eyes as wide and guileless as humanly possible. It was a stretch of her acting abilities, but she thought she managed it all right.

"Oh," said Weasley quietly, not looking at her.

Pansy knew right then that she had her. Everything else was just a matter of time and minimal effort for upkeep.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It took a little over a week for Pansy to get around to telling Weasley what was expected of her. First, she'd said, they needed to get used to each other, so it'd look convincing. Ginny seemed only too happy to have a captive audience to all her rants about ex-boyfriends and Harry and Ron and her parents. Pansy was slowly going insane, only managing to entertain herself by centering her considerable force of attention on Weasley's assets. Thankfully, the girl was oblivious, as well as given to wearing clothes that attracted said attention from Pansy along with half the population of Hogwarts. Ginny said it made her feel "like a woman". Pansy had only snickered, wisely choosing to say nothing yet again. Besides, Weasley was completely free to look as much like a slut as she pleased, especially if she kept any blatant flirting with random boys to a minimum, Pansy reasoned.

Still, she hadn't meant to say it so soon. It just slipped out when she was staring at Weasley's lips and thinking of how they were about 3 and a half times fuller than Draco's. His were just a long, thin line-- as well as a lot more chapped-looking. Weasley's looked as if she purposefully softened them with five different kinds of spell as well as a Muggle lip-gloss for good measure. Not that Pansy would know about Muggle lip-gloss, of course.

"The plan is," she said casually, still focused on Weasley's mouth, "basically I snog you in front of them both, and they either get turned on-- you know how boys are-- and they're back to normal. Or... we'll figure something out," Pansy finished lamely. Couldn't very well share her vision of the numerous less-than-positive outcomes during her big sell, could she. And she couldn't quite remember why exactly it had been such a good idea to snog Red anyway. Those stupid lips were so... distracting.

There was a definite indentation in Weasley's lower lip. Like a dimple of some sort. It was really impossible to concentrate with that stupid dimple in the way.

Weasley crossed her skinny little arms over her nicely sized chest and scowled, for all the world looking entirely unimpressed.

"So -that's- your brilliant plan?" She paused, looking into Pansy's eyes with a disconcerting amount of lucidity for a moment. "No, wait, don't tell me. This is a joke, right? Because honestly, I think this is the funniest thing I've ever heard." True to her words, Weasley began laughing, albeit a bit hysterically. "Why don't we just strip and do a lap-dance? That ought to get their attention just as well, Parkinson!"

That didn't help at all. Now Pansy's gaze was lowered to the nipples currently poking through Weasley's shirt. They had a frustrating tendency to do that at the worst possible times, too. Pansy's own breasts were much larger, but Ginny's were small and high and they looked like they'd make a really nice handful. "What did you say?" Pansy said distantly, licking her dry mouth.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "We'll talk later, all right? I have Astronomy homework to do. Meet me in the library after dinner tomorrow, okay?"

Pansy ignored the slight tone of command in Ginny's voice, walking briskly alongside her as she started on her way back to Gryffindor. "Can I study with you?" she said quickly, before she'd thought better of it. It was definitely -not- so that she could stare some more. No, no, no.

Weasley blinked at her, and Pansy groaned inwardly. What had possessed her to say that? There were -Gryffindors- where Weasley would be studying. Worse, there was possibly even -Malfoy- in the vicinity. She cursed herself for a fool a dozen times before Ginny responded. They weren't even in the same year!

"Yeah, sure," she said airily, smiling a little as she bent her head towards Pansy. "Didn't know you're taking remedial Astronomy," she laughed.

"I'm not!" Pansy cried, mortified to realize she was blushing, of all things. Ginny's cheeks dimpled as her grin kept on growing wider. Pansy felt a tiny flutter somewhere she'd prefer not to think about. "I'm just-- really interested. I want to learn." Pansy managed to keep a fake smile plastered on her face, even while she was desperately trying to think of a way out now that she wasn't staring directly at Ginny's chest.

"It's okay, you don't have to lie, Parkinson," Ginny said, not unkindly.

Pansy had to cough for a few moments before she could speak. "What!"

The smile she was trying to hide became obvious. "I meant that it's okay if you just want to spend some time. We could go to the garden if you like." Ginny grinned suddenly. "It's good flying weather, too."

Pansy grimaced, of course. "Urgh. Flying. One of those Gryffindor things."

Ginny laughed again and Pansy found herself liking it against her will. Again. "You haven't actually tried very much, have you?" This made Pansy shoot her a dirty look, which just meant Ginny laughed harder.

"No, and I don't want to, either."

"Awww, come on. You'll love it." Without waiting for an answer, Ginny had already taken off in the opposite direction. Sighing long-sufferingly, Pansy took after her at a more reasonable pace. She really hated being out of breath.

"Will not," she muttered, looking at the ground in stubborn fascination. "Oi! Weasley! Wait up!" she yelled, walking fast, because she wasn't running. Ginny was already flying when she got there, not having bothered to wait after all. Pansy didn't even try to restrain her leer as she settled back to watch.

And that's how it started.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

They discussed their first time over and over as the days went on, but Ginny was never satisfied. She couldn't very well pick outfits to wear or maneuver them into the most flattering angle, being stuck with uniforms on weekdays, so she obsessed over everything else she could think of and a couple of things Pansy unwittingly suggested. It was Pansy's idea that the boys might think it was hot if they smeared their lip paint all over each other's mouths as they snogged. She rued that moment with much passion.

"Do you think we should wear my lip-gloss or would that interfere, do you think?" Ginny asked as they sat cross-legged on her bed. Pansy was trying rather hard to ignore how ridiculously weird this all was, focusing on her plan. She mustn't forget The Plan. The plan was more important than the subtle growing torture of having to face Weasley's stuffed animal collection while clad in their socks, bickering over make-up like they were old friends. Yeah, if old friends talked about future snogging sessions, but it was best not to dwell too seriously on that.

Pansy groaned. "Will you just -pick- something? I swear I'll go mad before we ever get to it, and trust me-- if I'm mad, you'll be sorry."

Ginny just gave her one of her increasingly common disbelieving looks. It was a bit worrying, since Weasley wasn't actually intimidated at -all- anymore, and that didn't bode well for future obedience, but the girl was still on board so Pansy was willing to let it slide as long as it wasn't anything too drastic.

"Do you like the pink or the dark brown for my complexion?"

Pansy struggled not to roll her eyes too obviously. "Are you always this picky, or is this just for my benefit, Weasley?"

Ginny pouted, crossing her arms tightly across her ever-perky breasts. "If you don't want to be here, you know the way out, Parkinson." That she did, but it was enough trouble -getting- here past all the curious stares that she felt almost obligated to get -something- out of this visit.

Pansy just sighed again. "Look, I don't think anyone's going to notice lip-color while we're mashing our faces together, all right?" To her credit, Ginny didn't look scandalized in the slightest. Pansy smirked a little, thinking that the virginal Weasley days were long, long gone and she could probably get a whole lot of dirt in that particular arena from their association. All in all, things kept on looking up.

"Do you think we should-- you know-- practice first? I don't want to-- um-- lose my nerve when the big moment comes." Ginny trailed off, seeing Pansy's skeptical look. "Well, excuse -me- for trying to be thorough!"

She was getting tired of this. Mostly, she was getting tired of resisting the bloody siren call of Weasley's lush mouth. Their eyes locked, but neither one moved.

"Oh, fuck it," Pansy breathed, and reached over the scattered selection of cosmetics and a stuffed unicorn, raising a hand only to gently cup Weasley's cheek. Her own gentleness startled her, but that was nothing compared to Weasley's wide-open eyes and hanging mouth. Pansy thought she'd heard the other girl's breath catch. Well, well... this was interesting indeed.

They must've been staring at each other for awhile before Pansy finally snapped out of it and got onto her knees, watching in fascination as Weasley's eyelids drooped ever more shut the closer she leaned. When she was close enough to exhale against Weasley's mouth, even Pansy was beginning to feel a little light-headed. This was just so -slow-. Agonizingly, torturously slow, yet she couldn't seem to do a thing about it.

It was Weasley who moved first. She pulled at Pansy's bottom lip softly, making her whimper at the back of her throat, which was completely unacceptable. Pansy's palm came up immediately to rest against the back of Weasley's head, and she mashed her mouth against the other's as hard as possible, angry about everything all of a sudden. It wasn't Weasley's fault but it might as well have been, because Pansy poured all her frustration and rage and hurt from the past weeks into the kiss. She wasn't in the state of mind to appreciate the surprise factor when Ginny responded eagerly, moving in further and taking more. She wanted as much as she could get. She wanted everything that was in her way. Pansy bit down on Weasley's lower lip, worrying it between her teeth before licking at the small dents she'd made with quiet fervor.

She wasn't expecting the girl to retain the presence of mind to pull away, but pull away she did, putting her palm flat against Pansy's chest and shoving hard enough to topple Pansy onto her back. They were both panting, sprawled on top of the covers, but Weasley's eyes were blazing with something more than lust-- it was anger. She was angry with her? Why?

"What the hell was that?" Weasley demanded, taking small, shallow gulps of air as she spoke.

It only took Pansy a few seconds to regroup and raise herself up on her elbows. "You were asking for it, Weasley." Still watching her, she sneered. "Don't tell me you didn't like that."

"That's not the point, Pansy! This-- this wasn't part of our deal!"

Pansy actually laughed. "You forget who you're dealing with, Red. I'm a Slytherin. Deals change."

Ginny gave her a hard look. "Oh yeah? Well consider this deal -off- then, how's that?" Her pronouncement shouldn't have fazed Pansy-- after all, there was no way she wouldn't be able to get her again just by touching her, she knew that now-- but nevertheless something clenched in her gut. Ordinarily, this would've been a sign for her to lash out and possibly blackmail Weasley into submission, but Pansy spoke without thinking, only knowing that she didn't want to hear Weasley say that again.

"No," she said flatly.

"Oh no?"

"No."

"What are you going to do to stop me, Parkinson? Tell Harry about our little deal? Well, guess what! I don't care. Harry wouldn't believe you anyway."

Pansy had to bite her tongue. "No, I meant... I meant we could go slow. You know, ease into it, if you wanted. No pressure." Ginny's skepticism didn't seem to abate. "Maybe you can wear that pink one and we can hold hands when we're walking to breakfast together, what do you say?"

Weasley's smile turned dimply and angelic immediately, and she wound a single red curl around her index finger. If Pansy didn't know better, she'd have thought the girl was trying to be coquettish. But of course, that was impossible... wasn't it?

"And we can wait indefinitely before we do the whole... public snogging thing?" she prodded.

"Yes, yes." Pansy sigh was extremely long-suffering. "Whatever you say, Red. You're the boss." Pansy barely managed to swallow down her distaste.

Ginny bounced on the bed enthusiastically. "Oooh, this is going to be -fun-!" she squealed, scooping up the loose cosmetics between them.

Pansy was starting to seriously question her sanity for the first time in this venture, but it was much too late to back out now. Her pride was involved, which meant she was good and stuck with Bipolar Girl, specially sent from Hell to drive her to a premature retirement in St. Mungo's. At least it'd be far away from Draco, Pansy thought brightly.

"You're mad as a hatter, you know that, right?"

"Mum says I get it from my dad," Ginny giggled.

Lacking a proper response, Pansy did the next best thing, though it wound up backfiring horribly. Now Weasley knew that Pansy's tummy was quite ticklish and that she snorted shamelessly when she had a giggle-fit. She was beginning to rethink whom, exactly, she wanted to get her revenge on.

She figured she'd at least stick with The Plan until she figured it out.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Two weeks later, and Pansy had still not figured much of anything out, though spending "quality time" with Weasley was... not unpleasant. The girl was clearly two Howlers away from a proper symphony, but at least it relieved Pansy's boredom now that her former partner in crime was out of commission. Or committing untold felonies with someone else, to be nauseatingly exact. She didn't see Draco much outside of classes and meals these days, partly out of her own efforts to spend as little time alone in the Slytherin dorms as possible. Maybe he'd miss her this way, she reasoned. Should've thought of that first, a traitorous little part of her told her. But that wouldn't have been nearly as much fun, a larger part piped up. Or frustrating, yet another responded. But certainly educational, yet another part added. That much was definitely true. If there was one adjective that described her and Weasley's encounters it was... educational.

"You're bored, aren't you," Weasley whined from across the table, apparently unable to keep silent for more than two minutes at a time, at least around Pansy. She noticed that the girl was almost -shy- around some people. Kind of funny, how that worked.

"Why would you say that?" Pansy asked, not really caring one way or the other.

"Well, you have that look. You know the look."

"What look?"

"There, see? There it is again. It's like you're -thinking- or something. So I figured you must be really bored."

Pansy snorted. "Have you thought of trying that whole snogging thing again, by the way?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not! I was just thinking of how I wanted to kiss you right now."

"...Oh." Predictably, Weasley blushed violently. Pansy wondered if her heart was beating as far as her own was, even though she -hadn't- been wanting to. Not until she had to go and mention it, that is.

"I guess that's a no, then," Pansy said flatly. For some reason it stung a little.

"It's just... I want it to be special, you know?"

Pansy coughed loudly, making an effort to swallow correctly, she was so amused. "Good one, Weasley."

Ginny's face flamed even brighter, if that was humanly possible. "I'm serious!"

Now it was Pansy's turn. "...Oh." She didn't stay speechless for long, of course. "So are we talking special as in a private supper and a night watching the stars, or special like me mauling your mouth in direct, unobsured view of the boys?"

Weasley gave her another one of those newly patented Dirty Looks. "I don't know. Special."

"Well, you're a big help, Weasley, thanks," Pansy said sarcastically.

"It's a gift," Ginny said. "Along with being barmy-- though not like Luna or anything. More like my dad. You probably wouldn't like my dad. Come to think of it, he probably wouldn't like you either..." Ginny shrugged semi-apologetically.

"I'm crushed, I truly am." Pansy rolled her eyes. Luna who? "The less you say about your family the better for the both of us, Weasley. I don't want to know. Trust me." She was fully prepared to resent the pout on that soft pink mouth, but she wasn't ready for the barely-masked grin.

"Hmph," Ginny huffed, holding the pillow aloft. "Pillow fight!" she squealed, her eyes lighting up and her fake pout disappearing. "Defend yourself, you wretched Slytherin!"

Pansy's eyes widened when Ginny proved as good as her word. She launched an all-out attack as her pillow headed straight for Pansy's face with harmful intent, laughing maniacally all the while. Her own fingers scrabbled behind her, closing around the edge of a pillow and jerking heavily enough to send it barreling into Ginny's shoulder, earning Pansy an outraged squawk.

She had to admit, the girl was starting to learn, but it was going to have to be faster to keep up with Pansy Parkinson. She'd invented the game, after all. She was just going to have to try a little bit harder to stay on top.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Pansy thought it was inadvisable to tell Weasley quite yet that things weren't exactly going to plan.

She would've thought it would bother her, but instead she could barely bring herself to care. It was as if there was one of Weasley's thick quilted blankets wrapped around her heart, and she could barely hear it beating when she saw the two of them during meals and in the halls. They didn't hold hands or kiss in public or even walk and sit too close together most days. It was just obvious to Pansy. Every little thing about them was blindingly obvious, and it gave her a small measure of peace to think it couldn't be that clear to Potter. No one knew Draco's moods and the slightest change in his expressions like she did.

It gave Pansy a sort of perverse, bitter satisfaction to know that no one else knew how happy Draco was, possibly not even Draco.

The first time she'd had Weasley sit next to her at breakfast, no one cared. Especially not Traitor Boy, who had taken to eating his carefully cut sausages right next to his "secret" lover at said lover's table. On the bright side, boy Weasley was still having apoplectic fits at the sight when he wasn't studiously ignoring them both, which obviously made Potter look more than a little pained, even though Draco merely looked amused.

So naturally, they'd walked in quite close together days later, hips brushing against each other, mouths painted various shades of red, and Weasley's hair was in these cute little braids with pretty red and gold ribbons woven in. Pansy's strictly professional opinion was that she looked lickable. Nature should insure that the boys' dicks would pretty much explode, nevermind that they were "queer" these days. Queer just meant a girl had to try a bit harder, anyway.

Draco wasn't looking at her. This should have really bothered her, she knew that. As it was, the embarrassment factor of doing anything overt like holding Weasley's hand overwhelmed any desire to put on a show for their benefit.

"Bollocks," Pansy muttered, dutifully staring daggers at Potter's forehead.

"What?" Weasley mumbled around her scrambled eggs. "Are they doing something?"

Pansy really really wished she wasn't so transparent. Or maybe she just wished she'd never -told- Weasley in the first place. She didn't say anything, just allowed her left hand to creep under the table, bunching up the skirt as it began to inch up Weasley's thigh. She was studiously not looking right or left, keeping her eyes focused on her plate as she listened to the girl's tiny hitched breaths and felt the minute shifts in the other's posture. Weasley had spread her legs for her.

She breathed as carefully as possible, even going so far as to lift her coffee to her mouth with her left hand.

She didn't drink a single sip.

Weasley was starting to gasp shallowly just as Pansy's clever fingers reached the edge of her knickers, tickling a bit but otherwise not really moving.

Pansy felt certain that she was probably flushed in an awfully obvious manner by now, but this was too good. The rush was making her feel light-headed and infinitely powerful and -there-, really present in her own fleshy body. Her nipples were so hard it was painful, and she was sure-- completely sure-- that everyone could see it. That just made her more hot, and she extended her middle finger quickly. Weasley jumped, barely swallowing what would probably have been a loud squeak.

At that exact moment, she looked up to see Draco staring right at her, his hand raised in a very clear thumbs-up. He was even mouthing something at her as he leered, eyes bright, but she didn't bother making out what it was. Her eyesight was dimmed with red sparks and there was a rushing sound in her ears.

She'd snatched her finger back belatedly as if it was on fire, unconsciously sending it straight to her mouth. Draco waggled his eyebrows at her, the little shit. God, she'd never thought revenge would be this... humiliating.

All she could think of was that she really and truly wanted-- no, needed-- to kill him. Slowly. After she'd cut off his stupid limp cock as a souvenir, maybe.

And also that she now had the sneaking suspicion that this wasn't going to work.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

When all else failed, Pansy Parkinson knew her main virtue was that she was stubborn. Her doggedness was a subject of many a whispered taunt and first years' legend, and once it had kicked in, there was nothing else to do but play along. And for whatever reason (Pansy herself was far from sure), Weasley kept playing along.

Time passed, and Weasley became useful as a sort of buffer between Pansy and everything else. It was comfortable. Weasley wasn't afraid to talk back, but since she wasn't in the direct sphere of Pansy's rightful influence, she wasn't too pissed off when the girl didn't fall in line. They were comrades in the short-term, not that they bothered to bring up The Mission very often these days, and it helped that time passed easily while they were together.

If someone wanted to gossip about the two of them, Pansy let them. Normally, she would've wiped their mouths in dirt, but since she -wanted- to be talked about this time, it was all for the good of the plan, no matter what. Pansy was almost becoming mellow about it, though she'd never admit that to anyone. It was rather relaxing, not having to worry about how she was being seen and judged by her peers. She was safe in the knowledge that she -meant- it-- that was the point.

Though sometimes, she found herself forgetting the point altogether.

Up against the wall near the kitchens, where they'd snuck down to grab a midnight snack, it had just been another "practice" kiss. They had those with little to no warning at times, just to "keep in shape". Weasley seemed willing and Pansy-- Pansy wasn't getting it anywhere else, and maybe fudging the rules was all right if you were horny enough, she figured.

Things escalated quickly and before either of them knew it, Pansy had Ginny pressed up against some door, a hand between the other's legs, rocking with increasing speed. She was breathing into Ginny's neck when she wasn't biting and licking it, and Ginny was doing what she could to stay upright. This went on for a few minutes-- neither one of them would've been able to tell how many-- before Weasley had apparently come to her senses and pushed Pansy away, eyes flashing wildly.

"P-parkinson! You-- you have to stop, we can't-- I--"

Pansy smirked. These last-minute assertions of authority before the resounding defeat had never failed to amuse.

"Oh yes we can," Pansy whispered, leaning over to speak against Ginny's ear, knowing the effect it would have. "And we -are-. Do you feel dirty yet, Weasley? What would big brother say if he could see you now, hmmm?"

Ginny's neck arched to the side, exposing more skin to Pansy's questing lips, but her words were hard. "I could never be anywhere near as dirty as you," she bit out.

"Shut -up-, bitch!" was the last thing Pansy had said before her mouth had unerringly latched onto Weasley's nipple right through the thin material of her shirt. She sucked relentlessly, almost viciously, suctioning nearly half of Ginny's petite breast into her mouth, drinking in the effect this had on the other girl. Weasley had, in fact, shut up almost immediately, quickly cycling through an assortment of moans and whimpers and breathless nonsense words. Pansy didn't think she'd ever felt so satisfied, though the more she licked and nibbled her way across Weasley's chest and stomach, lingering especially near the bellybutton, the more she realized how little satisfaction she'd truly had to compare this to.

Having hiked the skirt up around the other girl's waist to face Weasley's knickers, Pansy paused. This was the time to back out if either of them were going to, she knew that. Weasley wasn't going to be the one to do it, not panting and shaking like she was, but Pansy was still pretty lucid, and while the pretty lacy undergarments were tempting, that wasn't what she was here for.

"What do you want, Weasley?"

Ginny moaned.

"Say it!" Pansy hissed. "Come on, Red--"

She didn't have to ask, if the flushed, desperate look on Weasley's face was anything to go by. "Please," Ginny whimpered. "Please..."

Pansy licked a swath across the thin fabric, knowing that right now, she could probably ask Weasley -anything- and she'd say yes. The knowledge hit her right between her thighs, and she redoubled her efforts. Weasley's hips bucked and her moans became hoarse and frantic, but she didn't try to push her knickers down or hold Pansy's head any tighter. She knew who had the power here, even as her knees shook and knocked against the wall in the fierce effort to keep standing. Pansy wasn't going to make this easy, of course. No fun in that.

"Please... oh God... do it..." Ginny whispered harshly.

"Do what, baby?" Pansy mouthed against the drenched knickers.

Ginny moaned pitifully, finally risking knotting her fingers in Pansy's soft curls. "Aaahhhh-- uhmmm-- you know-- I don't know, please, -anything-, whatever you want-- aaahhh-- just-- can't take it--"

Pansy couldn't hear her pleas anymore, but she pushed the tip of her tongue where they both wanted it, as hard as she could. Weasley didn't make a sound as her hips arched and she ground against Pansy's mouth, flesh quivering in a familiar rhythm. Pansy's nails buried themselves in Ginny's thigh with enough force to leave welts in the delicate skin there, and she thought she might die if she didn't get relief soon. She'd never really had this problem before, but now all she could think about was how maybe she should just leave Weasley here, get back to her bed and take care of things manually. Of course, she could've done it while on her knees, she knew that, but Pansy clung to the notion that she wasn't anywhere near that desperate.

Instead, she slowly leaned away from Weasley's freckled thighs, sitting back on her heels and looking up at the other's face, trying to look infinitely patient, though she failed miserably. Patience had never been her strong suit anyway. She smirked, noticing the high, flaming flush that went all the way down Weasley's neck and disappeared somewhere underneath her bloody awful Gryffindor tie. Eventually, she was greeted with a spacey smile and a heavy-lidded gaze, frank and hot and what was that about leaving?

That would simply be no fun. "Had enough?" Pansy drawled in a voice so heavy with sex, she barely recognized it, and was rewarded with a slow, sated-looking grin.

"Not on your life, Parkinson. I can keep up with you and then some-- trust me on that one."

Pansy's answering grin was quite a bit like that of a cat who ate the canary. "Oh really?" she whispered, licking a path up Ginny's thigh.

"Hey, hey--!" Ginny squirmed half-heartedly. "Isn't it my turn this time?"

Pansy chuckled. "Oh, how Gryffindor of you, Weasley. So much yapping about turn about and fair play and all that rubbish. Shut up and enjoy the free lunch, will you?"

Ginny made as if to protest some more, but Pansy finally buried her face between Weasley's legs and sighed, savoring the moment those pretty sounds Weasley made rose in pitch once again. Her fingers joined in the party this round, sneaking in under her own skirt and getting to work at averting something of an impending crisis. She was -not- going to come like a bitch in heat, humping against Weasley's leg. That girl was going to strangle her with her bare thighs this time, but she found she didn't care as much as she thought she might.

Weasley tasted good, Pansy decided dizzily, taking her sweet time about it now that the edge was off. Sure, someone could come by at any moment, but Pansy wasn't the type to be easily embarrassed, and losing House points was worth word getting back to That Git. Besides... she didn't like to rush through her meals, and the thought of Draco was a distant consideration, not really worth her concern. It wasn't nearly as interesting as the precise flavor of Eau de Weasley.

A bit like peaches, but kind of sour at the same time, like lemon spice, Pansy mused. Surprisingly good, actually. A prick would only get in the way, she thought distantly, picking that moment to selflessly forgo her own pleasure and lick two fingers for added comfort. Smirking wickedly, she made a single stab.

"P-p-pansyyyyy! I'm-- gaaah--!" Ginny screamed, loud enough to wake the few house-elves that might've been asleep.

It should've been over right then, it really should have. Some sort of boundary got crossed when Pansy's eyes rolled back at the sound and she gasped silently. She'd had a small, fierce orgasm merely from the girl screaming her name. She would've expected herself to be in full bitch mode right about now. Instead, she found she couldn't be bothered. This couldn't be over yet, anyway. Ginny's smooth bare leg was -right there- in between Pansy's damp thighs, and she was beginning to shift it between them, allowing Pansy to rub herself languorously up and down until she thought it wouldn't be such a bad idea to do this yet again, face to face this time perhaps. In a bed, even. The possibilities were staggering to imagine... not to mention really hot.

She wasn't stupid. It was possible a few plans were going to have to change.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

In retrospect, Pansy realized she should've known better. She should've predicted this, somehow.

It was the morning after, and Weasley was being completely insufferable. She'd all but swung their hands together as they walked, pausing every few seconds to beam stupidly at her. Ginny didn't even have to say anything-- Pansy knew what put that silly smile on her face. Her own body was still buzzing, even after she'd woken up. She knew this meant they were going to have The Talk soon, the one where she made it absolutely clear that It Meant Nothing, but a small, stubborn part of her was still clinging desperately to the Third Golden Rule.

God, the things she did for revenge.

"Do you think we should thank him?" Ginny asked casually when they were almost at the doors.

"Huh? What? Who?" Pansy was busy checking on the present location of The Enemy. It was always a bit disconcerting not to know which type of hell to expect. Nevermind that things haven't been all that hellish lately.

"Malfoy, of course," Ginny continued blithely, blissfully unaware of the other girl's rising irritation levels. Not that she would've cared. "I suppose he -is- the reason we're--" She broke off suddenly. "Pansy..." It looked like she was going to say something terrible like "I'm sorry" or worse, but the moment passed and all she did was squeeze Pansy's hand, reminding her it was still linked with hers. "We're here," she said instead.

And before she knew it, Weasley was pulling her to the Gryffindor table, smiling that same wide soppy smile, except now it was faked and Pansy was kicking herself against her well. She felt sort of dazed, even speechless for once. Her face was a blank mask as they walked hand-in-hand past the happy couple. Draco didn't always sit with Potter, of course-- it was just her luck.

Pansy wished she knew what was going through Weasley's mind. If only she could've convinced herself that this was all an act for the boys' benefit, it would've been easier to enjoy the vision of boy Weasley having the next best thing to a heart attack, and Potter's worried glances in Draco's direction, who was staring with undisguised prurient interest. It was almost sweet enough as it was, until Weasley kissed her.

She didn't even feel the lips on hers, but she did hear the loud choking sounds coming from nearby. They failed to satisfy her.

Weasley wasn't pulling away.

The tip of Weasley's tongue was running across the seam of her mouth, gentle and questioning and somehow -obscene-.

Giving what would've been called a sob in any other girl, Pansy tore herself away and ran heedlessly out of the Great Hall, not looking back.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Pansy hated running. She hated everything she wasn't brilliant at, but she hated running with a particular, unmatched passion. She hated being made to run, but she hated anyone seeing her run even more. Draco used to lag behind every chance he'd gotten to watch her arse jiggle. He'd never failed to be amused by those sorts of things, even after the five-hundredth time. The boy really did have the sense of humor of a precocious twelve year-old. And that was on his good days.

Sometimes, Pansy thought she'd always hated him a little, especially once puberty coupled with the stupid war had made him completely insufferable to absolutely everyone, but especially people who'd actually -cared- about him.

She heard footsteps racing after her, and put on a burst of speed. Draco always had been faster than she was, with his sleek Seeker's build and his long practice at running away before he'd gotten Crabbe and Goyle on his side. If she hadn't been his girlfriend, she thought she might've done him serious injury for all the shameless staring and eyebrow-waggling and arse-pinching and maddening laughter. He'd become a full-time prat, and the fact that Pansy didn't appreciate it bothered her about as much as the fact itself.

Of course, if -she'd- ever laughed at -him-, Pansy was certain he wouldn't have spoken to her for at least a month, leaving aside the likely revenge tactics.

And now there he was, watching her run once again. Admittedly, he wasn't laughing yet.

"Panse! Oi, Panse!" he yelled after her when he paused for a breather just as she turned a corner. Draco hadn't called her that for years, and it only served to infuriate her further. "Sodding hell! Don't be like this, you silly bint--! Oi! Slow -down-, okay!"

She didn't go any slower, though he was gaining on her regardless. And he sounded like he was in a good mood, of all things. If only magic worked so that wishing for something made it happen. It'd be so easy to simply... wish Draco's mouth shut permanently.

"Go away!" she yelled back, not turning around. "I mean it, Malfoy! We have nothing to talk about!" She'd rounded yet another corner, and he would've caught up if he'd wanted to by now, but they could hear each other just fine like this anyway. She'd never given him an inch in all their fights over the years, and she wasn't about to start now.

"Who said I wanted to talk, Parkinson?" came the familiar drawl, albeit louder than usual.

Pansy rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe they were really doing this without even looking at each other. Then again, when had they ever been a normal couple? She used to figure that she might as well take what she could get, but now... It had become rather obvious that he'd never wanted the same things she did, even when she hadn't known what those things were herself. The idiot probably still had no clue -what- he needed, but why in the world should she wait for him to figure it out?

"Parkinson!" Trying to be commanding now. At another time, she would've snorted in amusement at how ineffective he always had been at the 'command voice'.

Pansy didn't move, shaking slightly and trying to calm her erratic breathing. "Malfoy," she said finally, sounding almost normal. "Don't tell me you're hard of hearing as well as fucking blind. Let it be if you know what's good for you. It's not too late yet."

"Too late for -what-?"

"For us to go back to pretending to be 'friends', of course. The sort who don't talk anymore and fuck the enemy behind each other's back. You know how it goes, I'm sure."

"WHAT!"

Pansy winced. Draco's high-pitched screams had always been like nails across a blackboard to her sensitive ears. "Shhh! Do you want half of Slytherin for an audience, you total git!" she hissed.

"What the bloody hell is -wrong- with you?" Draco screamed louder if possible. "And I never went behind your sodding -back-, you stupid cow!"

She still hadn't turned around, and Draco hadn't walked in front to face her. Pansy's fists clenched at her sides. How dare he ask her that? -She- was the one who should be asking -him-.

The sharp edges of her nails cut into the heel of her palm, and just like that, she made a decision.

Mouth curled in a vicious snarl, Pansy whirled around and did something she hadn't done since she and Millicent had terrorized a small, pale five year-old all those years ago.

Pansy punched him with all the force of her bitter rage, holding nothing back. Once wasn't enough of course, but it would have to do. Her knuckles hurt like a bitch, and another sob broke free. She was humiliated and defeated by the look in his eyes and the blood running down her fingers and the hollow, empty keening in her stomach.

Blood running sluggishly from his nose, Draco stared at her in utter disbelief. He looked almost comical like that, speechless and frozen with shock, blood staining his pretty-boy mouth.

"What's wrong! You tell me," Pansy said, sneering. "Or actually, don't. In fact, stay the fuck away unless you want a repeat performance, do you hear me?" Her voice rose in spite of herself. "You have no right, Malfoy. None. So just-- go fuck your bloody Gryffin-whore and sodding leave. Me. The hell. Alone!"

This time when she ran, Draco didn't follow.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Weasley barely managed to find her by curfew, at her now compromised favorite spot by the lake. It was sunset and the world was as beautiful as it ever got, and Pansy didn't care one bit. She still wanted to cry, though she couldn't.

A part of her wanted to snap at her for taking so long. She hadn't exactly been hiding in the most private place she could find. Pansy wasn't the solitary brooding type, and all that time alone had really worn her down. Even though she hadn't wanted -Draco- to come after her, it didn't mean she meant she wanted to be by herself. Any time Pansy stormed out, it meant she expected to be followed by the right person, as soon as possible. Most definitely before she got bored. And Pansy had gotten very, very bored, even consumed with intermittent crying spells as she had been.

And she couldn't demand Weasley entertain her at the moment. That was the worst part, Pansy stewed. Not being able to take what's there... though she liked to think she wouldn't have, if she had another choice. It wasn't like she needed Weasley in particular.

Naturally, the stupid bloody Gryffindor plopped down beside her without asking, though at least she didn't try to touch her immediately. There were rules to these things, Pansy reminded herself. Couldn't very well skip straight past the fighting to the shagging.

Instead of looking at Pansy lustfully, thus forcing her to display great strength of will, Weasley began to rant. For a moment, it had almost been like Pansy had forgotten whom she was dealing with. She remembered quite a few details now.

"Where have you -been-!" she yelled suddenly. "I've been looking -everywhere-, I was so worried about you!" Ginny paused to gulp a few frantic breaths. "Oh, Pansy--" She began to reach a hand towards the other's arm, and that was all it took to send Pansy into a full-blown panic.

It was that last, desperate 'Pansy' that snapped her out of it. She'd been staring at the water line blankly, following the last tendrils of sunlight across the surface. If she kept being numb, she wouldn't jump Weasley...

It had seemed like a reasonable idea at the time.

"Get a fucking clue, Weasley! Sometimes people don't want to be bloody -found- like poor stray little dogs." Okay, that was a blatant lie, but Pansy was on a roll. "Now I suggest you get lost before I do something you'll regret, Weasley." That was it. Threats always worked... Yep.

Pansy's voice was low and quiet, and she didn't look at Ginny once, semi-afraid of what she'd find in the girl's face if she did.

"But--" Weasley's tone was so tentative and pitiful, Pansy's hackles rose to full alert.

"But, nothing! Leave! Go the fuck away, little girl! Our deal is off, all right? You're free! Show's over."

There was a silence for a while, and though she was panting like someone on the verge of running, she made no move to get up, and neither did Pansy.

The sun had set while they'd sat stubbornly still, and though Pansy was really starting to feel chilly, she wasn't going to be the first one to crack. And the whole time, all she could think about-- all she could feel-- was Weasley's nearness. Too far away to warm her and too close to ignore. Her thoughts ran in tiny circles, getting more and more tightly wound until she couldn't even remember what she'd been contemplating so intently before Weasley had come.

She could hear Weasley breathe, next to her in the dark. It was long past curfew now, and no one would find them here for awhile. Ginny took short, even breaths, and while they should've been lost in the rush of water on the shore, they weren't. Pansy could hear each one as clearly as a bell.

God, she wanted to hold her. To push her tongue into her soft wet mouth. To forget everything but the feel and taste of her. To get warm again.

It -hurt-, not touching her.

"Pansy?" she spoke on the next exhale. It was soft and dark, her voice, but there wasn't much tentativeness to it. Ginny sounded like she knew what she wanted at that moment.

"Yeah?" Pansy croaked.

"Turn around," she whispered. "I want to show you something."

Pansy already knew what it was going to be, but she still did it. What else was there to do anymore? Her hands shook, so she kept her fingers wrapped around her knees as she knelt before her.

Ginny kissed her with slow, aching sweetness, like she was trying to both ask her and tell her something she couldn't quite name. Pansy sighed in mingled relief and defeat.

"Thank you," she murmured against Ginny's lips, and simply let herself be kissed until it became too much. Pansy pulled away, resting against her girl's forehead, smiling a little. "Ginny..."

"Yeah?" There was so much warmth in that voice that Pansy shivered a bit, pressing up tighter against Ginny's body, though she wasn't cold.

"You're my girl, aren't you?"

Pansy felt this smile against her skin, like a kiss. "What's in it for me?" Blinking, Pansy opened her mouth slowly, but Ginny interrupted. "Silly goose," she giggled. "Don't you know about the Golden Rule of Gryffindor?"

"Oh?" Pansy perked up.

"Yeah. 'Rules are made to be broken.' And, er-- rules, deals. They're all the same."

"Really?"

"No," Ginny laughed. "I just made that up. But it's the thought that counts, isn't it?" She nuzzled Pansy's ear. "I'm not going anywhere, you know," she whispered, sticking her tongue in.

Pansy sighed even as the heat spread between her legs. What was it going to take to get this girl on a leash? Her eyebrow quirked. "Yes you are. You're going back-- with me. 'Cause I'm the Prefect," she said, getting up. Ginny didn't argue, falling into step beside her with ease, but her eyes were dancing mischievously. Pansy could tell this wasn't over yet, but she was blissfully unconcerned.

She liked Weasley's rule, she thought.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 


End file.
